


Week 3: Peony / Compassion

by DramioneLDWS



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24358738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneLDWS/pseuds/DramioneLDWS
Summary: Each chapter is an individual drabble written by a single participant.Please mind the tags/triggers at the top of each entry. Only major Archive warnings will be noted.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 84
Kudos: 57
Collections: Dramione Last Drabble Writer Standing - Round 1





	1. Sneaky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Sneaky  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 498  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [I_was_BOTWP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/pseuds/I_was_BOTWP)

Her nose twitched. She could smell him, musky notes floating along the summer breeze. How silly of Draco to move upwind.

Slowly, Hermione stalked within the shadows, carefully picking her way over twigs and around dry leaves. As a break in the cloud cover revealed the moon, she flattened herself below some overgrown peonies. 

She waited, listening for movement in the direction she'd last detected him. 

The wind shifted, and her heart pounded with the realization she'd lost her advantage. Even in full bloom, the large flowering shrubs above wouldn't mask her from his heightened senses. Added to that was Draco's intimacy with the Manor's gardens.

A rustling to her left had Hermione rolling to her right, instincts she didn't even know she had kicking in. She internally chided herself when it merely turned out to be a hedgehog.

Too late, she realized her error, when a fierce body launched itself from above, crashing down in a shower of peony blossoms.

Sharp pointed teeth latched onto her neck, not breaking the skin, but finding enough purchase to hold on. Claws dug into her sides, gripping her snugly to him.

She growled. If she really tried, she knew she could overpower him. Hermione was nearly twice his size, after all. But the hunt had rules for a reason.

Sighing, she gave in, letting her body fall limp. He'd won - fair and square.

Draco let go, but didn't get off. Instead, maddeningly, he propped himself upon her belly and laughed at her. At least, she thought the chirping noises and shaking meant laughter. When he got off, and began a sort of jumping dance, it was just too much.

 _Cocky little ferret_.

Taking the opening, she pounced. Now lying atop him, she momentarily basked in the sound of his grunts as he squirmed and tried to free himself.

In a magically fluid series of events which she planned to catalogue in the future, the supple creature below her disappeared. A naked Draco, his hard muscles quite the contrast to the flexible ferret, laid in its place.

"Cheater," he drawled.

Exasperated, Hermione gathered her magic and shifted out of her otter form.

"You're the one who changed back first," she countered.

Draco gave her a heated look, hooked his hands under her arms, and yanked her upwards, bringing their faces even.

“Sneaky.” She narrowed her eyes, but failed in pretending to really be upset as she grinned and swooped down for a kiss. After a month of the miserable taste of mandrake leaves, his lips and tongue tasted sweeter than she remembered.

Easily rolling her over, he rested above her on his elbows, hips cradled between her bare thighs. He smirked down at her and began to pick fragrant pink petals out of her tangled hair. "So, do you want to go another round of hide and seek? Or have you had enough for the night?" 

Shifting her hips just so, she quipped, “Is _hide and seek_ what we’re calling it now?"


	2. The Chauffeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Chauffeur  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 498  
> Warnings: Character Death
> 
> AUTHOR: [LumosLyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra)

Wing Commander Draco Malfoy eased himself out of the cockpit of his Spitfire MK V and pushed the thick goggles away from his eyes as he trudged away from the hanger, desperate to shower and sleep before he had to board the train to Wiltshire. With each step, his entire body sagged as he silently grieved the four airmen who hadn’t returned with the rest of their squadron. Still, he’d etched his kills into the wing of his plane with a pocket knife to remind himself of the enemies who no longer posed a threat to all he held dear. 

It was a heart condition and not a member of the Luftwaffe that had taken his father with it two weeks ago. His compassionate leave had only just been approved and while Draco knew his mother would not wait to bury his father, he could still pay respects to his father’s grave and take care of affairs for his mother until he was required back at the RAF Air Station. 

War waited for no man. 

When he stepped off of the train, dressed in a crisp uniform with it's buttons gleaming and insignia straight, his heavily pregnant wife nearly knocked him over when she flew into his arms.

“You’re here; you’re really here.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grasped at his uniform, wrinkling the fabric with a twist of her fingers. Draco’s arms wrapped tightly Hermione as he pressed kisses against the unruly curls she’d attempted to craft into something elegant with an arsenal of hairpins—evidence of his mother’s meddling.

“Draco, I am so sorry about your father.” Wide brown eyes laced with tears gazed up at him and he nodded, quietly observing each new freckle dotting his wife’s cheeks, evidence of the time she spent in the gardens. 

It was difficult to pin down his feelings about his father. At one point, Draco worried his father might be a sympathizer, but either Lucius hid his illicit spending well or the ledgers were correct. It wasn’t something to dwell on when his father’s grave was fresh and proof was scarce.

“Welcome home, sir.” The chauffeur stood stalwart by the sleek Rolls Royce, the high tenor of his voice bringing a soft smile to Draco’s face. 

“I wish it were under happier circumstances, but thank you all the same, Dobby.” 

The older man gave a curt nod, tucking the suitcase into the boot of the car but did not offer his sympathies. It was well-known that Lucius Malfoy had been a formidable man, not well-liked by his own staff, and Dobby, being his father’s chauffeur and valet, had borne the brunt of Lucius’ temper for years. Theirs was a troubled relationship. 

When Draco settled into the car, Hermione tucked sweetly into his side, he was struck by the small bouquet of bright peonies Dobby had placed in the vase near the window.

For the first time since his father’s passing, a tear rolled down Draco’s cheek.


	3. Patient #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Patient #3  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 499  
> Warnings: Mentions of Character Death
> 
> AUTHOR: [Msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Msmerlin/pseuds/Msmerlin)

> _**Patient 3 - week 1**_
> 
> _**Unreceptive to traditional methods. Combative—intoxicated?** _

“This is your job now?” His tone meant to cut—sharply lined, precise. “I’ve always known you were a Ministry lapdog, but this is fucking _pathetic_.”

Hermione took a slow breath, steeling her resolve not to stoop down to his level.

She was his last resort.

It was either her or Azkaban.

“Have you always disliked the Ministry?” Her voice was apathetic—devoid of anything that might betray how she truly felt.

The muscle in his jaw twitched, and for a moment, she wondered if he might actually answer her. “Fuck you, Granger.”

* * *

> **_Patient 3 - week 4_ **
> 
> **_Breakthrough? No outbursts. Still harbors anger._ **

“How long were you married?” She already knew the answer, but these questions weren’t designed to be investigatory. Rather, an attempt to get him to open up.

He fingered the end of his tie.

She didn’t want to press; it had taken her nearly a month to get him to stay in her office for the mandatory thirty minutes, but if he didn’t start showing improvements soon, her report to the DMLE would do him little favor.

His name was on her tongue, ready to break the deafening silence that stretched between them.

His eyes finally met hers. “Eight years.” 

* * *

> **_Patient 3 - week 7_ **
> 
> **_Responsive. Hasn’t drank since son returned home. Vast improvement in demeanor._ **

“Did you love him?”

“This isn’t about _me_.” She fought back the urge to laugh. Of course she had. She didn’t have two kids with a man she hated, but her love for Ron no longer mattered—not since she’d buried him beside Fred. 

“No, but I’ll make you a deal.” He planted his elbows on his thighs, lips curling slightly behind steepled fingers. “You show me your scars, and I’ll show you mine.”

* * *

> **_Patient 3 - week 14_ **
> 
> **_Fulfillment of Court Ordered Therapy._ **

“Congratulations.” She turned to find Draco standing at the window overlooking the Alley.

He hummed, eyes glazed over in thought.

“You should be proud of your progress, Malfoy.” Pushing up from the chair, she smoothed her hands across her skirt. “You’ve come a long way.”

She’d miss him. Their twice a week sessions ended up benefiting more than just him. His struggle to find peace after Astoria’s death was a painful reminder of her own darkness she had yet to conquer.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, as if afraid to admit his feelings. “Everyone else had given up, but you—”

“I did nothing.”

“You did _everything._ ” 

A lump formed in her throat when he turned towards her. 

His eyes sparkled, tears lining his lower lids. He straightened his sportcoat before crossing her office to collect his letter of release from the table. 

“Same time on Monday?”

Her brow furrowed. Monday? But he was—“You’ve fulfilled the requirement.”

He paused at the door, his hand curled around the knob. “I know, but it's your turn now, Granger.”


	4. Paeonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Paeonia  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 499  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [NuclearNik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik)

It is not in the night when the devil comes.

There are no shadows or glowing red eyes. The sun is out, soft clouds and birdsong floating through the air.

The world wilts, not all at once but slowly, darkness coming on the heels of heavy boots crushing the budding flowers of spring beneath their soles.

Soon the sky is filled with smoke and snakes entwined in skulls, scorched earth all that is left of Hermione's sanctuary.

There is nothing but wreckage in the wake of this war; just fallen bodies and sobbing loved ones.

Nothing but wreckage… and a single flower.

She kneels on the ground beside it, fingers gently brushing pockmarked petals, bright against the shattered stone around it.

It is strong, hardy. It is a point of pure beauty amid the ugliness of battle, and for the first time since the fighting started, the sharp burn of tears stings her eyes.

A shadow appears on the ground, and she looks over her shoulder to see a figure standing behind her.

Her gaze quickly scans up a thin frame to a pale face marked with soot, fair hair hanging lank over tired eyes.

He extends a hand, and she's confused for a moment; this is not a friend. But soon, memories flicker through her mind of him turning his wand against his allies, taking out Death Eaters as he stood in front of his mother's body on the ground behind him. How at the end, he'd done the right thing.

As he tugs her up, the sleeve of her shirt slips, exposing her forearm and the still-fresh wound carved into her flesh. The lines of his face are tight, guilt emanating from him in waves, and she peers up at him in curiosity. 

_Regret?_

There is regret in his gaze, and it makes her think of when they'd locked eyes while she was writhing in pain on his drawing-room floor. She had seen regret then, too, muddled up with fear and a sense that he was split down the middle in an impossible position.

"You're bleeding."

She thinks he means her scar, and she opens her mouth to say it's cursed and won't heal, but something slides down her eyelid to drip off her lashes, and she realises it is blood.

Carefully, as if trying not to spook her, he lifts his hand and whispers an incantation. She feels a clump of her hair dry, no longer stuck to her forehead as he siphons the blood away.

Pressing her fingers to the wound, she inhales sharply at the pain that shoots through her skull like bolts of electricity. She tries to turn and see what she can do for the injured in the Great Hall, but before she can take a step, black presses in at the edges of her vision.

"Granger?"

As the world fades, she vaguely registers a pair of arms catching her, keeping her safe, so incongruent to everything she's known to be true.


	5. I Don’t Pity You Granger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: I Don’t Pity You Granger  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 498  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [StoneAndRoses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoneAndRoses/pseuds/StoneAndRoses)

“Hermione Granger, you stand accused of evading arrest, fleeing the country, and ignoring the Ministry’s mandate to marry. Today this council will decide your fate…” boomed Kingsley’s voice throughout the Wizengamot chambers. 

They had won four years ago, but it didn’t feel like it. Harry had cleared out the Potter and Black vaults and moved to the middle of nowhere in America. Ron couldn’t handle her schedule or commitment to her Ancient Runes Mastery, leaving her for Lavender Brown. And nothing had changed. 

Blood prejudice ran rampant. The old families who fought for Voldemort had not lost any of their previous standing, their coffers still overflowing. The heads of those families made up the majority of the eyes staring down at her and they were surely going to throw the book at her.

Hermione had been _livid_ when the law had been announced. It was a way of continuing to make the Sacred Twenty-eight look better, while increasing the population, and gaining control. She had battled it with the full capacity of her lungs but that hadn’t been enough. 

Her real mistake was thinking she wouldn’t get caught or that they didn’t care enough and would let her go. She initially hid with Viktor in Bulgaria, faking an engagement. However, when the aurors came knocking and she wasn’t there, it was clear she was fleeing.

“Unless anyone has any objections,” continued Kingsley, pulling her attention back, “We will begin our debate on punishment.” Kingsley paused, an air of calm covering the chamber. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Godric, she was running from marriage but the phrase had still snuck into her life. 

Just when she thought they would move on to discuss how long she would decay in Azkaban, someone stood in on the left towards the back of the congregation.

“The Malfoy family objects. I will enter into a marriage contract with Miss Granger, nullifying this entire hearing.”

Her jaw dropped at the declaration. Draco Malfoy, head of the Malfoy family now that Lucius had passed, was offering to marry a Muggleborn fugitive. _Voluntarily_. Did he pity her? Was it some twisted sense of righteousness or compassion?

“Objections?” asked Kingsley, clearly surprised. 

She almost laughed. Like hell anyone else would volunteer. 

“All those in favor of Lord Malfoy’s marriage proposal in place of Wizengamot sentencing?”

Every single hand raised in the room.

“Motion passed. This session is dismissed.” The bang of the gavel felt incredibly permanent. 

As he approached her she noticed a white peony pinned to his lapel. It hadn’t fully bloomed yet, but he certainly had grown into himself since she last saw him.

He grabbed her elbow, leading her out of the chamber. As they walked he whispered, “I don’t pity you, Granger. That’s not why I did this. I didn’t like the law either, but I couldn’t let you die in prison.”

Compassion it was. 

“And who knows, maybe we’ll eventually make this farce into something real.”


	6. A Trial of Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: A Trial of Compassion  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 498  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [KoraKunkel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoraKunkel/pseuds/KoraKunkel)

“The Wizengamot calls Hermione Jean Granger to the stand.” 

Draco whirled from his seat in the centre of the courtroom, eyes searching for the bushy-haired witch. She stood off to his right with Potter and Weasley, looking everywhere but at him. 

“Thank you, Deputy Inquisitor.” She replied. “I have come today to testify on behalf of Draco Malfoy’s innocence.” Her demeanour was confident, but Draco could hear the waver in her voice, the only indication of her nerves. 

There was a short buzz of chatter amongst the Wizengamot at her words. Draco, and he was sure most of the people in the room, had expected her to testify _against_ him; to help send him to Azkaban, not save him from it. 

“And what do you bring as testament?” The Deputy asked, her face pinched.

“My memories,” Hermione said. Her eyes finally met Draco’s across the courtroom and a blush appeared over her cheeks. “Moments of compassion that saved the lives of myself and my friends.” 

Minister Kingsley inclined his head to the Deputy and she swished her wand to bring forward a Pensieve. Hermione gave her friends a fleeting glance before she stepped down from her place, meeting the Deputy and Kingsley in front of the shallow dish. Hermione raised her wand to her temple, pulling out the memories in a silver strand. 

Draco’s stomach lurched. 

He truly didn’t know what memories there could possibly be of him showing compassion. That word was foreign to him, only used to spit in people’s faces mockingly. 

And now it was the only thing keeping him from rotting in a jail cell. 

The trio in front of him leant forward, surged into the Pensieve. They stayed that way for so long, Draco thought his tapping fingers would leave indents in the arm of the chair. After what could have been hours, but was more likely less than thirty minutes, they pulled out from the reflective surface. Kingsley and the Deputy’s faces were both scrunched in confusion and Hermione’s was bright red. 

“Well... you can’t deny the evidence, Maribel,” Kingsley said, glancing to Draco. 

“Yes... Yes, you’re quite right. Thank you, Ms Granger.” 

Hermione turned and on her way back, reached out to grip Draco’s hand, still bound to the arms of his chair. With a searing touch, he felt something pressed to his palm and he clenched his fist around it as Kingsley and the Deputy returned to their spots. 

“Well, though this should be a vote, the Minister and I agree that the evidence is insurmountable of your innocence. Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are hereby found not guilty of all crimes. You are free to go.” With a flick of her wand, Draco’s hands were released from their magical bindings. 

What was chatter before, now exploded into shouts of rage. But the voices were muffled in Draco’s ears as he unfurled the letter Hermione had given him, the words making his heart pound. 

_For the compassion you once showed me._


	7. Size Doesn’t Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Size Doesn’t Matter  
> Rating: T  
> Word count: 499  
> Warning: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [Kyonomiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyonomiko/pseuds/Kyonomiko)

“Come on, Granger, it can’t be that bad.”

Draco chuckles as he digs around in the blooms and leaves of Greenhouse number five. He hadn’t meant to hex her. He’s been trying to score points with the pretty witch for ages. 

Unfortunately, he had been startled, thinking he was alone in the building. Acting on instinct, he had shot a vague polymorph spell her way. Whatever she’d been transfigured to had darted into a Peony bush and now refuses to come out.

“You witnessed my horrifying adventure as a ferret, if you recall. This can’t be worse than that.”

He spies a glimmer of movement, one heavy pink blossom dipping on its stem, and reaches toward it.

There, curled and crouched, is a pixie.

A very naked pixie with the face of Hermione Granger, blushing more pink than the flower itself.

And Draco laughs through a very amused smile. “Oh, dear me, but you seem to be in quite a state.”

The tiny witch huffs, holding a petal to her front and glaring up at him, unable to process human speech but definitely letting her ire be known.

“Come out, and I’ll dispel it.” When she doesn’t move, he sighs and explains, “If I do it here, you’ll crush Longbottom’s stupid flowers and probably wind up in the Infirmary.”

Draco watches as she gingerly stands straight, bringing the flower petal with her and continuing to try to murder him with a look. Her wings flutter, and she hovers down to the pavers, modesty petal in place.

“You know, if I was so concerned about seeing under your knickers, I probably could have found a way when you were more than three inches tall.” Which, of course, is a lie. He obviously hadn’t managed it yet. 

He flicks his wand and watches her grow back to normal height. 

Unfortunately, he seems to have miscalculated, perhaps a bit too much arc on his swish, a stutter to his flick, and she is still quite naked, a flower petal basically large enough to hide her belly button clutched between her fingertips.

“Err..” 

Skin still pink as the peonies, Granger squeaks at him and scrambles to crouch behind the bush. “Well, don’t just stand there! Give me your robes!”

He does, though he could probably move faster. He’s trying not to look, he really is, but Hermione fucking Granger is flushed and naked and Merlin’s pants, she’s fit.

He hands over the garment, eyes still wide as she snaps it away from him and wraps herself.

“I… sorry…”

“So you say,” she sniffs as she turns to go. Draco panics in the face of her angry departure.

“Wait! That is… I’ll need my robes back.”

The witch stops and looks him over with scrutiny. He’s trying very hard not to look like a starving man in a pastry shop, but imagines he must be failing when she tilts her head and smirks.

“Come get them.”

He heels like a pup, following her lead.


	8. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Happy Birthday  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 495  
> Warnings: Implied Alcohol Abuse
> 
> AUTHOR: [TheLastLynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastLynx/pseuds/TheLastLynx)

Draco Malfoy _hated_ his birthday. Draco Malfoy hated his birthday so much, in fact, that he couldn’t recall a time when he hadn’t hated his birthday.

He knocked back a drink, scowling at the generic gifts collecting on the sideboard, mocking him.

How he despised everything birthdays entailed. The fake smiles. The half-hearted well-wishers. The dinners where his father would stiffly toast his good heath, and his mother would hug him, almost smothering him.

Draco hated his mother’s voice getting thin and shaky, as his father’s got surely, while they both avoided the fact that he, at now forty, remained alone, conveniently ignoring the part they had played in that.

His fist closed around his glass as he lifted it to his lips again, emptying it in one swig, numbing any memory of a time _before_. Why his mother had insisted on throwing him a party this year was a mystery to him. He knew the people she would invite, and the people she wouldn’t. He had endured the kerfuffle for an hour before escaping to the smoking room.

There was a knock, and a hefty and balding man entered. A former classmate — one of the Puceys maybe? After a short chat the man absconded, promises of a soonish lunch made that neither would keep.

Draco levitated the newest addition of liquor to the line-up on the sideboard. A pathetic file of guardsmen watching over him and his loneliness, as they had for more than half his life.

“Happy birthday to me,” Draco muttered and knocked back another. Forty years and the only thing he had truly accomplished was acquiring a strong liver and being an obedient son, _and for what_.

Another knock had Draco contemplating to lock the door. Before he could decide it was pushed open by someone who couldn’t possibly be here, and because it was so impossible Draco started laughing, until the witch standing there pulled a face.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt but your mother said to just go through and…”

Draco scrambled to his feet, realising in painful clarity that this was not an alcohol-induced delusion, but Hermione Granger in the flesh. Minister Granger. _His_ Granger.

“Fuck,” Draco mumbled as he crossed the room to greet her. “I’m sorry, this is… unexpected—”

Hermione smiled shyly and offered him a gigantic bouquet of flowers.

“Peonies?” Draco froze, the full realisation hitting him. “Are you sure…?” He waited with bated breath.

Granger looked torn, her eyes flickering towards the sofas. “Could we… sit? I think it’s time we talked about… about what happened…”

Draco stared at her, her eyes full of compassion, her lovely face as pink as the petals, and his heart now beating so frantically inside his chest as if it had just lain there, waiting for a chance to get back to her.

“Of course,” he said, leading her into the room, hoping desperately that this might be the chance to like his birthday again. “Let’s talk.”


	9. From a Single Root

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: From a Single Root  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 495  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [anne_ammons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anne_ammons/pseuds/anne_ammons)

“Come help me stake these flowers, Cassie.”

Cassiopeia sighed. “Mum, why can’t we just use magic.”

“Not everything requires magic, dear. Now pass me the twine.”

The girl plopped down on the ground beside her mother who was carefully securing the large, floppy pink blossoms. The peonies were so fragrant, but also delicate. The thin stalks tipped over under their weight.

Her mother looked over at her. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Cassie took a deep breath and it all came tumbling out. “Rose said something that wasn’t so nice. I know she was mad, but I thought we were friends, even though we ended up in different houses. So yeah, that.”

Her mother was quiet as she finished tying a length of twine around the narrow stems.

“See how this works? When you tie them together, they all help hold each other up, instead of the flowers on the outside falling over. You try one.”

Cassie sighed again but did as she was told. She slipped the twine around a group of peonies and carefully gathered them together as she tied it.

“Well done.” Her mother sat back on her heels, surveying the row of peonies. “Did I ever tell you where these came from?” 

“No.” It didn’t seem relevant, but she knew better than to question whether her mother had heard what she had said. She was always listening, always putting things together. And, there would inevitably be some lesson to learn.

“As you know, your father and I did not get along when we were younger.” 

“That’s an understatement.”

Her mother laughed. “True. After the Final Battle, that autumn, I received a box. And in it was a root.” 

“For Potions?”

That’s what I thought at first. But there was a note in the box that said, “From a single root, a hundred flowers bloom.”

Cassie looked at the peonies, trying to imagine the roots underneath. “That’s odd.”

Her mother laughed. “I thought so, too. But, I planted it, and in the spring, when the peonies were in bloom, your father came to talk to me.”

“And you didn’t punch him that time.” 

They both laughed, but her mother continued, more serious than before. “No, I listened to what he had to say. And we talked for longer than we had ever talked before.”

“What did you talk about?”

“About the war. About the impact of kindness and compassion. And I realized that even when we’re not on the same page, we can help hold each other up. ”

Cassie sat, deep in thought.

“Doesn’t Aunt Ginny have these growing in her garden?”

Her mother nodded.

“And Uncle Neville and Aunt Luna, too.” She paused. “Did Dad send you that?”

“What do you think, Cass?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I think I’m going to go write Rose a letter. And when the weather turns, do you think I can have a root?” 

“I think that would be lovely.”


	10. His Mother’s Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: His Mother’s Gardens  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 488  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA)

“What’s _he_ doing here?”

“The bloody cheek!”

“Bastard should be rotting in Azkaban, that’s what I think.”

Draco held his head high, doing his best to ignore the outraged muttering. He had agonised over whether or not to attend the memorial. Last year, on the first anniversary of the final battle, his courage failed him. He stayed hidden away in the manor, seeking refuge in his mother’s expansive gardens, and anonymously sent a bouquet of peonies from Narcissa’s collection.

Now, he approached the stone plinth. Etched on it were the names of the fallen. Draco’s fingers traced lightly over the names, pausing on Crabbe’s. The guilt over his friend’s death still lingered. If they hadn’t followed Potter and his sidekicks to the Room of Requirement… if he had stopped him from conjuring the Fiendfyre… but there was no point dwelling on ‘what ifs’, was there?

Reaching into his cloak pocket, Draco withdrew a wreath and enlarged it. He was just reaching out to lay it against the stone when he was shoved from behind, causing him to topple forward and hit his head against the base. Dazed, he faintly heard someone cursing him. “You don’t belong here, Death Eater scum! You insult all of us, and especially the dead, by showing your face!”

Despair flared in his chest. He shouldn’t have come.

“Stop it! _Stop it!_ What is _wrong_ with you?”

He would recognise that voice anywhere. Gentle hands were on his shoulders, helping him into a sitting position. “He’s come to pay his respects, like the rest of us. Have some compassion,” she chastised.

“Don’t go to any trouble on my account, Granger,” Draco muttered. “Defending me isn’t worth the drama.”

“Shut up, Malfoy, and get off the ground,” she responded bossily. 

With a grunt, he did as he was told. He cast his eyes sideways to see her glaring at the crowd. 

“If you’re all _quite_ finished making a scene and embarrassing yourselves, I think we should get on with things.” No one challenged her, although some were clearly unhappy about his continued presence.

Later, when everyone else had moved into the Great Hall for refreshments, Draco was still standing in front of the plinth. He summoned the wreath from where it had fallen and gently placed it with the other tokens.

“They’re beautiful.”

He turned. Granger was smiling softly at him.

“From my mother’s gardens.”

“You sent a bouquet last year.” It was a statement, not a question. “The colours are very unusual for peonies.”

“Magic,” he explained with a wry grin. They stood in silence for several minutes before he turned to her and said, “Thank you. For earlier.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Will you have dinner with me?” He blurted. 

_Shit._ Where had that come from? He eyed her warily, afraid of how she might react. She was facing forward, not looking at him. The moment dragged on awkwardly. Finally, without turning, she spoke.

“Yes.”


	11. Pity There's a Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Pity There's a Price  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 498  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [kurisutenchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurisutenchan/pseuds/kurisutenchan)

Draco Malfoy walked like he owned the place, his chin high and steps deliberate, the heels of his oxfords creating a steady cadence as he moved through the Ministry. It was one of the only good things his father had taught him, how to hold himself so he exuded power. Municipal office workers leapt from his path as he moved between cubicles to the DRCMC Director’s office nestled in the back corner of the floor. He didn’t pause his stride as he grasped the knob and let himself into the room. He immediately settled himself into a leather chair and crossed his legs, adjusting the blazer of his tailored suit and carding a hand through his hair.

Behind an oversized desk sat Hermione Granger, holding several reports in her hands and papers on every surface. “Ah, Malfoy,” she said barely looking up, her tone dripping with sarcasm,” Please come in. Do make yourself comfortable.” She piled up the papers she’d been looking over and placed them in a stack on her desktop. “To what do I owe this _pleasure_?

He didn’t answer, so she pressed innocently. “I take it you got my owl?”

Draco reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a mere scrap of paper and looked idly at the words scrawled on it. “What the fuck is this, Granger? All it says is _‘Please cease your contributions.’_ ”

Hermione stood from her chair and stepped around the desk, coming to lean her bum against the front edge. His gaze fell momentarily to her shapely, stocking-clad legs and the pencil skirt tight to her hips. She frowned. “You’ve been buttering me up. I want to know why.”

He shrugged, flourishing a hand dramatically. “Aligning myself with the future minister surely would be positive for my family’s reputation and that of my business.”

“You sent three checks for 50,000 galleons each.” She deadpanned.

“Are you trying to tell me I’ve been _too_ charitable?” He quirked an eyebrow at her questioningly, feigning hurt. “I figured your campaign would need outside backing. You can use the excess on your most recent crusade to save whatever marginalized creature you’ve been on about this month. Of course, it benefits Malfoy Industries if we come off as sympathetic to your causes.”

She was quiet for a moment, her honey-coloured irises pinning him in a sceptical glare. “And what are you wanting in return?”

“Nothing.”

Hermione snorted in disbelief, arms folding over her chest. “Oh fuck off Malfoy, you always have an ulterior motive.”

“You’re welcome to give glowing statements about me and my company for how _kind_ and so _compassionate_ we’ve been—”

She scoffed.

“— and I wouldn’t be opposed if you’d thank me by joining me for dinner Friday—”

Hermione held up a hand to stop his monologuing. He could see the wheels were turning; her brows furrowed. “You want a date in exchange for your monetary support?”

Draco nodded and waited as her narrowed gaze shifted over his form. 

“Fine.”


	12. Stupid little furball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Stupid little furball  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 494  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [FemmeBrulee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FemmeBrulee/pseuds/FemmeBrulee)

If you asked Hermione Granger about the exact moment she fell in love, she'd laugh and tell you that people didn't fall in love all at once, but in small, discrete moments scattered like loose leaves across time.

She'd tell you about the balmy spring afternoon in the Cheshire safe house when she spotted Draco Malfoy conversing with a peony bush.

"... you stupid fucking creature. Hold still so I can…"

She watched from the window as he crouched on all fours, reaching around for something on the flowerbed. It was the first time she had heard his voice in weeks. The prickling loneliness of his new life among the Order was breaking him, she could tell, but he’d die before he let anyone believe it.

"...fuck's sake, I am trying to _help_ you!"

He yanked his arm back a few times, wincing, which was when she noticed the faint, pink scratches on his hands.

At one point, whatever-it-was took a swipe at his face.

Malfoy yelled and sprang to his feet, stepping back from the bush as he reassessed the situation. With a brief rustle of leaves, a small, grey cat emerged from the bush. All dirt, protruding bones and raised hackles, it hissed at him.

“I’m never going to get it out if you keep acting like this,” Malfoy told the cat, and Hermione’s breath caught at the sudden tenderness in his voice. She peered closer at the creature. It looked like it had been abandoned days ago and had somehow found its way to the house. It limped as it moved, a thorn protruding painfully from its paw.

“Tell you what," said Malfoy. "I’ll stay here, and you come to me when you’re ready. Does that sound good?” 

The cat continued to eye him warily as he lay down on the grass. They stayed that way for a while as Malfoy carried on talking to it in mild, soothing tones, occasionally extending his hand out so the cat could sniff him.

The sun dipped low in the sky. Hermione couldn’t tell you how long she watched them, or why. She did remember feeling a strange pang in her chest at the image of a man at war with the world and with himself, curled up on the grass and stretching out his hand to a scared and wounded cat. 

Eventually, the cat approached him, bumping its head against his fingers with a soft purr.

“That’s a good girl,” Malfoy whispered, scratching behind the cat’s ear. Hermione watched as he gently reached for the thorn embedded in the cat’s paw and removed it in one small, smooth motion.

“There. No need to be scared anymore,” he said, and he may as well have been talking to himself.

If you asked Hermione Granger when it was that something in her heart broke for Draco Malfoy, she'd smile and tell you about the time he almost lost an eye for a cat he barely knew.


	13. Friend or Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Friend or Foe  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 499  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [FaeOrabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeOrabel/pseuds/FaeOrabel)

Hermione, on her rounds, could tell something was wrong. As she rounded the corner of a deserted hall, she could hear several hushed voices.

“Don’t know why they let you back…”

“Should be in Azkaban…”

“Or rotting in a grave with your shit father…”

Hermione picked up the pace and pulled out her wand, her stomach clenching. 

Malfoy, surrounded by hulking figures, had his back pressed against the wall as they threw random hits and hexes. His eyes were closed, and Hermione could see a black eye already growing. A cut split his lip, and he was cradling his arm against him. His entire demeanor suggested he was just taking it all and wishing for it to be over. 

“That’s _enough!_ ” Hermione shouted, all movement stilling. “I am disgusted with you. Ten points from each of your houses, yes, _each_! Back to your rooms and be prepared for a meeting with your Heads. I’ll be suggesting suspension.”

They looked at her horrified and grumbled under their breath.

“Go. _Now._ ” Her wand threw sparks in rage. 

Once alone, she went straight to Draco and cradled his face in her hands.

“It’s okay. They’re gone,” she consoled him, her thumbs rubbing his cheeks. 

Popping open his eyes, Draco sucked in a sharp breath realizing she was a friend—not a foe, and melted into her arms. She couldn’t hold his weight, so she lowered them to the ground and pulled his body to her. 

When his breathing was finally calm, Draco pulled away. Discovering just who was holding him, he backed against the wall again.

“What're you doing?” He asked, trying to put bite behind his words and failing miserably. 

“Healing you, shush,” she said, ignoring his real question and running her wand over him. Her magic stitched his lip back together, but she would have to get him some bruise paste. Hermione slightly stretched his arm out to see what was damaged. 

“What the hell were they trying to do?” Hermione asked, mumbling a spell to heal deep scratches on his skin. 

“Rip off my Dark Mark,” he whispered. 

He turned his arm to show her and her heart broke. 

“Peonies?” She asked, diligently changing the subject to his magical tattoo. The flower bloomed and shrunk back into a bud every few seconds, masking what used to be his Mark. 

“To remind me of the one thing I was never taught…” Draco bit the inside of his cheek, obviously uneasy. 

“That’s beautiful, Draco.” 

“Why’re you helping me?” 

“Because I _did_ grow up learning compassion and if there’s anyone who needs it, it’s you. Plus,” she held her breath, steeling herself for an admission of her own, “I feel very… protective… of you.”

Draco looked at her oddly from the corner of his eyes. Hermione took another risk and leaned in to kiss his cheek. His eyes widened comically. 

“Come on, you’re sleeping in the Head dorm tonight.”  
She helped him up and they walked together in silence, feeling content and safe.


	14. For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: For You  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 460  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [NotAMuggleMiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAMuggleMiss/profile)

Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and apparated. 

She landed on her feet. The distinctive sound of gravel crunched under her boots and she slowly opened her eyes. The gates of Malfoy Manor looked different in the sunlight. Hesitantly, she stepped forward, placing her hand on the crest in the center, and they swung open to admit her. Taking another fortifying breath, she crossed the threshold and took the path to the right, towards the copse of dark trees at the base of a shallow hill.

The Manor loomed above her to the left. She glanced at it quickly and shuddered. The bright sunshine, a last vestige of summer, mingled with the first chilly September breeze and it seemed almost a perfect day for sorrow, though she felt very little. As the path became surrounded by trees, she could see Narcissa standing at the exit of the natural tunnel, a few yards away, and she quickened her pace to reach her.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Granger,” the matriarch spoke softly as she embraced her. 

“My condolences, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione answered timidly. “Are you certain Draco will want me here?”

“Quite certain, dear,” Narcissa spoke with a slight smile. “Though he did express concern about you feeling pressured to return to this place.”

Hermione looked into the woman’s kind, grey eyes. They were so much like her son’s that she felt as though she knew Draco’s mother better than she possibly could, having only been acquainted a few months. She was keenly aware it was too soon for her to be included in such an intimate family ritual. But they were also uncommonly serious about each other, after only a quarter of a year of courting.

“He’s worth a little discomfort, to me,” she finally replied.

Narcissa graced her with another sad smile and gestured toward the lone figure standing across the graveyard, alone. Hermione approached him cautiously, pulling a single white peony from her pocket. She placed her left hand gently into his right and he turned to her with a bewildered expression. 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Draco,” Hermione said softly.

He shook his said and opened his mouth, as though ready to protest. Hermione thrust the peony towards him, instead.

“I know it isn’t traditional for a funeral, and maybe not even appropriate…” she grimaced slightly.

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come here for him, Hermione. He doesn’t deserve your compassion.”

“I’m not here for him, Draco. I’m here _for you_.” she said, squeezing his hand and resting her head gently against his shoulder.

They stood listening to the wind whistle in the surrounding trees, until Draco broke the silence with a hoarse whisper.

“Thank you, love.”


	15. Don't Quid'ditch' Me Now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Don't Quid'ditch' Me Now.  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 499  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [fandomfairytales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfairytales/pseuds/fandomfairytales)

Funny thing, _compassion_.

The things it makes humans do.

Hermione had never really stopped to consider it, after all, caring was her day job.

At St. Mungos, empathy was less an emotion and more of a job description.

The arrival of one blond git covered in mud and bruises, cradling his arm in a sling was a prime example.

“Back again, Malfoy?”

“What’s it to you?” He jibed.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that last week it was a split lip and nine stitches, the week before that; a bottle of skelegrow for your ribs, and last month you were in my A and E for three concussions, a dislocated shoulder and a broken hand that must have made my request that you go fuck yourself rather difficult.”

“Hmm, it did. But then again, Granger you could have taken me up on _my_ offer; if you want a job done right, sometimes you have to do it yourself.”

She huffed. Snatching up her clipboard and leading him to the nearest bed; she almost swore he injured himself on purpose, just to antagonise her. 

“Did they give you a pain potion before you got here?”

“Nope.”

“Must be another concussion. Certainly, explains the delirium.”

“The only thing making me delirious is the sight of you in that lab coat.”

He smirked and her legs turned to jelly.

Bastard.

She settled him in before gingerly setting to work extricating him from his sling.

“Think you can kiss it better Doc?”

She blanched. 

“You do know the bone is sticking out?”

“Is it?” He glanced down.

“OHHH! No wonder they didn’t want me to l-”

He slumped backwards and for all her training, Hermione yelped. Despite the bickering, she did care for him; perhaps a little more than that…

Alright! A lot more than that.

He was charming for all his teasing; flirty, intelligent, and SWEET MERLIN, she’d glimpsed those magnificent abs he kept hidden under his Puddlemere United robes and had to stop herself drooling.

Fortunately, her instincts kicked in and she immediately set to work. Their banter put on hold.

According to the surgeon it wasn’t a quick fix by magical or muggle standards. But soon enough he was back in the ward and up to his usual antics the moment the anaesthetic wore off.

She checked on him every day to administer his potions, receiving her own dose of wit and that fond smile reserved only for her.

She purposely ‘forgot’ to delegate and made any excuse to see him, right up until he was discharged.

She was going to miss him terribly…

The following day she stood on an unfamiliar stoop; one hand still poised to knock, peonies in the other, when the door opened.

“You know Granger, if you wanted to check up on me all you had to do was ask.”

“Good thing I brought my stethoscope.”

“You should know by now my heart beats for you, but I’m game to prove it.”


	16. Pity Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Pity Project  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 496  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [Weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weestarmeggie/pseuds/Weestarmeggie)

Draco heard the click-clack of heels marching down the corridor, and refused to look up. The doors to the Auror bullpen swung open, and Hermione Granger stormed into the space, making a beeline straight for his office. 

He could hear his colleagues muttering and whispering, very pointedly quieting, as they passed the open door of his office and stepped out of Hermione's way. 

She marched in, slammed the dead peony plant onto his desk and stood at his side, hands shaking, breathing harshly through her nose and waiting for him to meet her eyes. 

He clenched his hands into fists and turned his head up at her.

“Can I help you, Granger?” He asked, slipping his wand from the holster on his left arm and flicking it at his door. He saw half a dozen heads duck, and feign interest in their work, as it swung shut.

Hermione stared down at him, bottom lip trembling as her eyes watered. She jerked her head in the direction of his desk, of the plant he had destroyed and returned to her, and asked, “What is that?”

Draco clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to grit his teeth. “It’s me refusing your pity.”

She stepped towards him, the hem of her skirt brushing against his knees. “My pity?!” 

He met her hard glare with one of his own and stood from his desk, towering over her. He flicked his wand once more, erecting his privacy wards. 

“Yes,” he said, voice vibrating with anger, “your pity.” He grabbed behind him for the dead peony plant. The one she’d given to him, when they’d still been friends - nothing more - and he’d been promoted to Lead Prosecutor for the DMLE, and shoved it into her chest. A few pale pink petals fell to the floor between them. “I don’t need it.”

“Why exactly,” she stepped into his space, and Draco inhaled sharply at the closeness, “am I being accused of pitying you?”

“Because I heard Potter,” he said, voice breaking. “I heard him and Weasley talking about how you have a habit of taking pity on things, and making them your projects.” He dropped his hand from where it had been crushing the plant into her chest; it fell to the ground with a thunk. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her, fisting his hands in his armpits so she couldn’t see them shake as he took a step back. “Well, no thanks, Granger. But I don’t need it.”

“You’re an idiot!” She shoved her fists into his chest and thumped him. Once, twice, until he grasped her wrists and stilled her. “I don’t pity you, you imbecile!” 

“Don’t lie—”

She stepped into his space once more, their hands crushed between them, as she huffed up at him. Draco’s eyes flicked over her face, lingering on her lips as she leaned up, pressed them to his, and cutting him off, said, “I’m in love with you!”


	17. Sneaky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Neighbourly Behaviour  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 486  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [tygermine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine)

“I really don’t understand you sometimes.”

Darco Malfoy was leaning against the doorway to Hermione Granger’s office as she sat at her desk filling in what seemed to him like a pile of unnecessary paperwork.

“You don’t have to live next door to these cretins,” Granger groused as the words flowed onto the parchment. 

“So they play their music a little loud on the weekends,” Malfoy shrugged. “Just use a silencing charm or something.”

“It’s a matter of principle. They need to learn how to be decent neighbours.”

“So you’re throwing the rule book at them. How very typical of you.”

Hermione paused in her writing and frowned. “It’s not just about me. What if I move out and a young couple with a baby moves in, or an elderly couple? No. Those reprobates are going down.”

“We could just go over there and scare them.”

“Malfoy, I still have to live there! I don’t want a war.”

“So the fact that your neighbours look like they’ve already spent time in a muggle prison isn’t going to deter you? I don’t see why you just move into a magical area instead of surrounded by stupid muggles.”

“I love my house. I’m not going to abandon it because my neighbours don’t have manners.”

Malfoy sighed and shifted his feet, dropping his hands to his side. “Best of luck with your legal woes.” With that, he left her to her paperwork.

Hermione arrived home to an odd sight. 

Despite her neighbourhood being rather picturesque with old houses and pretty rose trimmed gardens, her neighbours had snuck in under some squatter’s rights loophole and had turned their side of the property into a tip. The front had been littered with old tires, broken bicycles, and glass bottles lying in haphazard piles.

Malfoy stepped up beside her.

“What did you do?” Hermione’s voice was tight, her cheeks pale.

“I simply explained the complexities of neighbourly behaviour. It seems they’ve taken my words to heart.” He gestured to the now empty house, the garden cleared of all the detritus. 

“So they’re still alive?”

“Last I saw them, yes, they were breathing.”

“I need a glass of wine,” Hermione muttered, walking up to her front door. Malfoy followed her, picking a flower from one of the flowerpots. 

Once inside, he handed it to her.

“What’s this for?” She held the peony with her fingers.

“You have a lot of compassion. Fighting for rights for everyone. Even this,” he gestured between them. “Is because you are a compassionate person. I know that those arseholes next door would have just ignored you. Luckily for you, I’m not so compassionate, so I can sort it properly without smudging my moral compass.”

“So you get your hands dirty to keep mine clean?”

“It’s all I have to offer you.”

Hermione pulled him into a hug. “It’s not all you have to offer, but I’ll take it.”


	18. Happier This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Happier This Way  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 496  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [TheMourningMadam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam)

A small town in coastal Connecticut was the last place Hermione ever expected her work as a Memory Healer to lead her. But Norwalk is precisely where she found herself in April of 2006. Armed with a stack of the photographic evidence of his former life, she marched toward the main thoroughfare—a quaint street where his practice lay nestled between a cafe and a bookstore. 

Hermione touched her bag where it rested on her hip, tapping it as though protecting its contents, reassuring the boy in the photos that he would not be forgotten. 

Draco Malfoy all but disappeared after the Final Battle and his whereabouts had been privately disclosed to Hermione only a week prior. His father, frantic after the loss of his beloved Narcissa, had tossed a heavy sack on her desk. Thousands upon thousands of galleons he hoped could bribe her into bringing his son back glittered from within. The thought of accepting that kind of money sickened her and she retained only what was necessary to survive as she navigated her way into Draco’s life.

Her skills in reversing memory charms was revered throughout wizarding Britain, but even still, nerves tangled and twisted in her belly. The chance that his memory was irreparably damaged was a very real possibility. After having viewed and coveted the pictures of him as a child and scowled at the ones of him as a moody teen, Hermione felt determination welling within her. 

Compassion for an emotionally wounded Lucius Malfoy drove her footsteps forward. Malfoy’s paediatrics practice was a stately storefront where ivy grew over the brick and peonies bloomed in window boxes along the sills. As she approached from the corner across the way, she watched as Malfoy—clad in a white lab coat and sensible trousers—dipped into the cafe next door to the office. 

Needing a reason to make contact with him, she followed suit and entered into the warm, inviting eatery. Malfoy was making small talk with the barista, clearly a regular. Her heart was slamming in her chest as she took a deep breath and marched forward with conviction. As he turned to leave, a takeaway cup of warm liquid in one hand and a croissant in the other, she bumped his shoulder with her own. 

The coffee in his cup sloshed dangerously and she mentally cringed at the prospect of scalding him during their first encounter. “I’m terribly sorry,” she murmured, placing a hand on his arm and feigning embarrassment. 

Malfoy checked that his lab coat remained pristine before he flashed her a genuine smile. In the years since his prolonged disappearance, he had grown into someone she scarcely recognized. Trim, angular, handsome. “Are you alright?” he asked, checking her over as a faint blush splayed across his cheeks. 

Hermione nodded dumbly, captivated by the sincerity and kindness that shined in his grey-green eyes. Eyes that held absolutely no recognition or familiarity. She knew then she couldn’t follow through.

_“He’s happier this way.”_


End file.
